


Fuck it all

by Madame_Marauder



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Author is being a sleep-deprived panicky asshole, Crossdressing for the sake of disguise, Even worse than the first one, F/F, Fast and loose with pronouns, Highkey gay, Historical accuracy?, I wrote this 2 months ago while coughing up a lung instead of sleeping, Its not too happy, M/M, More like ugly shit, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Praying my irl friends never find this, Revolutionary war lesbians, She's a Mary Sue, So its pretty shit, What's That?, Wow, im sorry, just wow, really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 20:18:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9623870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madame_Marauder/pseuds/Madame_Marauder
Summary: It's gay. And historically inaccurate.There are crossdressing lesbians. And Lams. And George Washingdad.Just fuckin read the damn thing.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The founding fathers are rolling in their graves.  
> This occurs in the middle of my other fic, so have fun with that.

     Her arrival was as sudden as the crack of a rifle. The horse and its rider were buffeted by the wintry morning air, hair and coat blowing in the harsh wind.

      She urged the horse down the hill, and it slowed as it reached the camp. The sentry glanced up, surprised. “Tell Hamilton that Samuel Jones needs to speak with him and the General!”

 

       “Ah, Mr. Jones. I must admit, I'm surprised to see you here. What brings you so far out from civilization?” Washington asked.

       Sam smiled. “I'm afraid that I need your assistance- or rather, Mr. Hamilton’s assistance. The other Samuels and I need to plan, and our plans need to match up with those of the Continental Army, otherwise nothing would be accomplished.”

       “And I assume you wish to have my aide as a representative of the Army?”

        She nodded. “That would be the general idea. I tried to choose someone who knew what was going on, but whose absence for a few days would not be scrutinized too closely. And- well...”

        Washington raised an eyebrow. “Well…?”

        “Hamilton is a brilliant man, don't get me wrong,” Sam admitted.“But he's running himself ragged. Even a brilliant mind cannot run off of two hours of sleep and undersized rations. Without the proper fuel, his potential is halved, perhaps quartered. Humans need sleep and food, which is a fact that your aide seems to be forgetting.”

        To her surprise, the general nodded. “Yes, Hamilton does tend to get a little lost in his work, no matter what I say. Considering this, I suppose you also intend to force him to eat and sleep well?”

        “Actually, yes. The attempt to save a brilliant mind is also the other half of my choice,” Sam replied quietly.

        Washington pondered what she had said for a moment, then finally said, “Take Laurens with you as well. He's cleverer than he looks.”

  
  


       “Wonderful, you're here! Thank you for bringing them up, Clark,” Jones said brightly. The tall black man nodded and headed off to another part of the grounds. “You'll have to excuse him for not speaking to you,” Jones told Alexander and John as they stepped in the country house. “His former master thought he was too clever, and cut out his tongue.”

         John winced, and Alexander looked furious. Jones raised a hand. “He can still write, and is one of our most common writers under the Samuel Jones name.”

         “So the rumors about some of the Samuels…” John trailed off.

        Jones smiled. “About some being women, escaped slaves, immigrants, and the like? Yes, they are true. I will admit that much.”

         “And no more?” Alex asked.

         “And no more,” Jones confirmed with a nod. “For the sake of the anonymity of us all.”

 

          Sam’s organs knotted as she watched the two put all of their restraint into not lunging for the food the moment it was placed on the table. She'd barely opened her mouth to say something when Clark rushed in, messy note in his hand. 

          “Help yourselves, don't leave the room,” she said, scrambling out of her seat. “I've got to go, I'll be back. Clark will be in a nearby room if you need him.”

           Clark gave her a worried look, and she shook her head. “I'll be fine,” she reassured him over her shoulder as she ran from the room. “ _ PATTY! GET THE HORSES, WE GOTTA GO! _ ”

           The former slave looked after her with a sigh and pinched his temples in exasperation.

 

            Jones returned home the next morning carrying the limp form of a young woman, streaked with blood not his own. He laid her down gently on the couch, snapping at Clark to get bandages and alcohol, now!

            Alexander and John, who were awake by that point, watched as the woman tried to bat Jones away as he tried to treat her wound.

          “Sammy, I'll just get infected… embroidery skills only translate into medical ones so far…” she protested weakly.

          Jones shook his head and began cleaning the deep wound that John could now clearly see. It was the hole left by a musket ball, the British standard issue kind, straight through her shoulder. “It went through, love,” he said with a kind of false reassurance. 

          “I can't feel my arm,” insisted the woman.

          He froze for a second, then continued cleaning it. “Then I suppose it doesn't hurt, does it? Shock is a wonderful anesthetic, truly. Now hush, and let me patch you up, ‘La,” Jones chided.

          The woman huffed. “Good thing I'm right handed,” she mused, flexing her good hand.

           “ _ Oui, mon cherie. _ Now, I'm going to need to clean the inside of the wound. Scream quietly if it hurts _. _ ”

           She screamed, somewhat quietly.

          “Leela, I'm nearly done, please don't wiggle,” Jones muttered.

          Leela glared at him, and John found himself impressed by her sarcastic reply. “Easy for you to say, you're not the one with a hole in your shoulder!”

          “I didn't wriggle when you patched up my leg.”

          She snorted, watching him try and fail to thread a needle. “No, you shrieked like a child and  _ squirmed _ !”

          “But,” Jones retorted triumphantly as he got the string through the eye, “I didn't wiggle!”

 

          Sam collapsed into the chair with a sigh. Loving another woman was hard enough without them both being revolutionaries. And housing revolutionaries. And making plans with revolutionaries. Specifically speaking, revolutionary manumission abolitionists. What a lot they were!

           “So.” Hamilton was the first to break the silence that had fallen on the room.

           Sam smiled weakly. “So.”

            “A needle pulling thread,” croaked a hoarse voice from the couch softly.

           She rolled her eyes. “Leela, you need to rest.”

           “Nah, the pain’s setting in. Let me join the conversation, it distracts me,” Leela pleaded.

            With a soft huff, Sam nodded. “Fine. You're going to need to stay here for a while anyway.”

           “No, no, no. I can't! What about-”

           “Leela, we have visitors,” Sam reminded her girlfriend.

           The wounded woman’s face fell. “But the poor orphans…”

           “Will be fine with Jacob. He can protect them,” Sam retorted.

           Hamilton raised an eyebrow, and she explained; “La here works with the orphans left by the British; they are usually forgotten and left to die. Her brother helps, and he can take care of them until she heals.”

 

           John’s eyes sparked at how the war orphans had been forgotten on both sides, and Alexander tried not to let his wistful thoughts show. He knew what Jones wasn’t saying, that the older of the orphans were given an option to spy on the British as menial servants. Children were stupid, according to the Redcoats.

            What would he have done for an opportunity like that?


End file.
